Losing Perspective
by solveariddle
Summary: <html><head></head>Even when they are close, they are not alone... H/P with references to the Ian Doyle storyline.</html>


**A/N: **I know I should rather work on the next chapter of my other story in progress, but somehow this one popped up in my mind and I had to get it out first. I ship H/P, but there are references in the story of Prentiss/Doyle so consider yourself warned. Have fun reading and let me know what you think. Reviews make my day!

**Disclaimer: **No copyright infringement intended. Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.

This is how it works for her.

When he touches her and she feels her body respond, she thinks of clouds until her mind is filled with nothing but a white emptiness. He likes to explore her body with his hands, never seems to get enough of her while whispering words in her ear she never ever would have expected to hear him say. Still she needs the white emptiness to block out the memories of someone else.

She hasn't figured out by now how two men so completely different in character can be almost identical when making love.

Even if she resents the thought that she had to fake a relationship with Ian Doyle, being with him as a woman was another story. She never told this anyone and never will, is too ashamed of it. Nevertheless nothing can erase that he made her feel like no other man before. He worshipped her body, worshipped her. Yet he is past and that's - of course - a good thing. What she didn't bargain for was his memory to stick around.

Hotch isn't past. He is her unexpected intense presence, unique in all his attributes. Almost. Because somehow when he is close to her and changes into this dark and desirous creature that hungers for nothing but her, he becomes someone else. Ian Doyle. The lines blur and she needs the white emptiness to not lose perspective.

She knows that he has to feel it - the slight shift in her body language, the pent-up tension, the distraction. But he never gets to the bottom of things, never asks why this happens. He just continues with the slow dance of his hands that eventually turns into a dance of their bodies, being the most patient, most persistent lover she ever had. And this includes Doyle. They might be almost identical lovers but there are differences after all. Doyle usually reached his point of no return very fast. And even if he always took her with him, she would give the prolonged pleasure in Hotch's arms the preference all along.

So why can't she forget Doyle? The truth is – she doesn't know. Perhaps it just takes time to overcome an addiction you once had. Perhaps it's the attraction of the forbidden fruit. She was supposed to do everything necessary to bring Doyle down and even if that didn't include explicitly sleeping with him it was an unspoken possibility if not likelihood that turned into reality. It was a forbidden fruit then as well as it is the forbidden fruit now to have an affair with her direct supervisor. No-one knows and if the wrong people find out there will be considerable damage not only to their careers but most likely to their whole lives. Everything is too interwoven. None of them can imagine leaving the BAU. So to have everything it took a lie, and then another and another. They are already untangled in a web of half-truths and tell tales. There is no way back.

The time they spend alone recoups their losses. They don't wine and dine, don't meet friends, don't do anything together. All they have is their skin on skin need and it never seems to fade. If only she could enjoy it without the fear that at the worst possible moment the wrong name might slip out. If only she didn't always fear to lose perspective.

This is how it works for him.

When he touches her and feels her body respond, he thinks of nothing but her. He likes to explore her body with his hands, never seems to get enough of her while whispering words in her ear he never ever thought he would hear himself say.

He hopes that he is unique to her not only as a man but also as a lover.

Of course he knows that she had to fake a relationship with Ian Doyle and can't tell how she felt being with him. It's a subject never to be discussed between them. She never told him about it, most likely never will and he accepts it, hoping that he makes her feel like no other man before, including Doyle. He worships her body, worships her.

Doyle is past and he isn't. She is his unexpected intense presence, unique in all her attributes. He knows that he changes into this dark and desirous creature that hungers for nothing but her, when they are close together. Sometimes he fears that this might be a parallel to Doyle, but still can't help it. She has this effect on him. Once, only once, and almost so quiet that he missed it, he heard her whisper his name while they were making love. Ian. He tries to tell himself that he was mistaken, but deep inside he knows that the lines sometimes blur for her.

These are the moments when he feels it - the slight shift in her body language, the pent-up tension, the distraction. But he never gets to the bottom of things, never asks why this happens. He just continues with the slow dance of his hands that eventually turns into a dance of their bodies, trying to be the most patient, most persistent lover she ever had.

Probably she thinks of Doyle at times, can't forget him. The truth is – he doesn't know and doesn't want to. It just doesn't matter. She is his addiction, the forbidden fruit he has denied himself for all these years and now he can never get enough of her taste. The risk is always there. Someone might find out, see through their thoroughly woven web of lies. But every time he touches her, he knows she's worth it.

He never has been the type to go out often. Therefore he doesn't mind that this is not an option. He enjoys every moment they spend alone. If only there wasn't the fear that at the worst possible moment she might whisper the wrong name (again). If only he didn't always fear that she might lose perspective.

This is how it works for them.

Need is a greedy monster and they feed it almost every day. He slips into her hotel room one night. The others are asleep and they're not in danger to get busted.

Their slow dance starts as usual, but when he feels the changes in her, he stops.

"Emily, look at me." He wants her to open her eyes, to see him and she does.

"It's just you and me." He whispers as their lips meet.

She kisses him back with a passion that surprises him even after all this time, as if she unleashed something. Then suddenly she breaks their kiss.

"Yes, it's you. I know." She whispers and confirms by this all his fears while taking them away at the same time.

Their bodies move in the tender and fervent rhythm they know so well by now. And when they fall over the edge together he hears her whisper his name. "Hotch..."

The white emptiness has vanished. She didn't lose perspective. He is all she sees.

The end


End file.
